Yesterday and today Dan has been threatening to give Rascal back. Rascal has been a bad boy recently, with pulling on his leash and not coming when we call, coupled with chewing on everything and not listening to anything we say. This comes on the heels (pun intended) of a spectacularly good-boy week. Rascal excelled at learning STAY in puppy class, and the next day he went on an entire walk with me heeling all the way. I was so proud of my little puppy, i was practically bursting at the seems of my parka (well, maybe that was the aforementioned 15lbs, but whatever.) Rascal was the goodest, smartest dog EVAR, and he was MY dog! I was just as proud as if i'd up and gave birth to him myself.
Then for some reason Rascal got a little bad; maybe because it was too cold outside and he had a little cabin fever, ur sumpin. The constant badness made Dan so irritated that whenever he mentioned the puppy yesterday, it was only in reference to firing him, giving him back, or returning him to the shelter we got him from.
Even though Dan was only frustratedly joking (sort of), these comments broke upon me as if he was threatening to murder my firstborn child. I am a worthless horrible failure of a mother to produce such an unloveable beast. I must flee to the hills with my baby, out of the piercing stare of "goodboy" "badboy" society. HE'S JUST A PUPPY! HE'S JUST A LITTLE BABY! HE'S MY BABY, DON'T TOUCH HIM!
Having a dog is a lot of hard work, but i never thought it would be so hard emotionally. Sit, Ego, Sit.
The restaurant host addresses me, gesturing his hand to the pink-and-red decked dining-room:
"All ready for VD!"
Oh, Valentines Day!
The other unwanted side-effect of coupling.